


Honey Don't Feed Me - I Will Come Back

by SilentFrenzy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Incest, Jealousy, i mean obviously but like they don't know they're cousins yet so, not completely canon in places as jon is present when lady dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 07:19:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14208015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentFrenzy/pseuds/SilentFrenzy
Summary: Sansa had never once came to him for anything and only spoke to him in short, clipped words when she had to. Jon looked down when he realized her vibrant blue eyes weren’t trained on him but on the direwolf pup in his arms. She stopped in front of him and Jon had to resist the urge to step back again, scowling at himself for being intimidated by a little girl. An odd feeling in his stomach made him set his jaw as he forced himself not to get excited by her attentions.Attentions she usually only awarded Robb.He had always tried to avoid feeling envious of Robb when little Sansa trailed after him as though he were her own personal hero, watching him with big eyes full of pride and awe. Jon adored Arya, but she would never assign him such a role. Arya didn’t need anyone to be her hero, and Sansa would certainly never share the affections she gave Robb with him, nor would she show him any affection whatsoever for that matter. Catelyn would see to that, just as she had seen to it from the moment Sansa could understand words.“Won’t you tell me his name, Jon?”-It Will Come Back - Hozier





	Honey Don't Feed Me - I Will Come Back

Jon took a step backward in slight bewilderment, almost feeling  _wary_  of the pretty girl approaching him. 

His pretty  _sister_.

Sansa had never once came to him for anything and only spoke to him in short, clipped words when she had to. Jon looked down when he realized her vibrant blue eyes weren’t trained on him but on the direwolf pup in his arms. She stopped in front of him and Jon had to resist the urge to step back again, scowling at himself for being intimidated by a little girl. An odd feeling in his stomach made him set his jaw as he forced himself not to get excited by her attentions.

**_you know better babe, you know better babe_ **

Attentions she usually only awarded Robb.

He had always tried to avoid feeling envious of Robb when little Sansa trailed after him as though he were her own personal hero, watching him with big eyes full of pride and awe. Jon adored Arya, but she would never assign him such a role. Arya didn’t need anyone to be her hero, and Sansa would certainly never share the affections she gave Robb with him, nor would she show him  _any_  affection whatsoever for that matter. Catelyn would see to that, just as she had seen to it from the moment Sansa could understand words.

“Won’t you tell me his name, Jon?”

She nearly closed the small amount of space between them as she reached to stroke Ghost’s fur, looking up at him curiously as she waited for his answer.

“Ghost,” he muttered quietly, surprised and secretly thrilled at her use of his name. He waited for the disapproval to roll off of her tongue in that bratty tone she used when she didn’t agree with someone or wasn’t getting her way.

Instead, she nodded in agreement, looking back down at the wolf in his arms while she hoisted her own back up awkwardly as she tried to hold it and pet Ghost at the same time.

“It’s a good name. Much better than Rickon’s. Robb’s as well,” she told him, wrinkling her nose slightly as she did when she disagreed with her siblings’ actions, which was practically always. “May I hold him, please? You will have to hold Lady.”

He nodded wordlessly, unable to keep from a slight daze at their interaction, the true acknowledgment he was receiving from  _Catelyn’s_  daughter. She had complimented him over Robb of all people, and she was being polite to him as well, sweet even. She was a sweet girl when she wanted to be, but one wouldn’t be able to tell should they only see her and Arya together. He shifted his small, wriggling wolf into one arm as he took Sansa’s wolf in the other.

Lady, of course she had named named the wild animal  _Lady_.

Sansa didn’t wait for him to hand her Ghost before she pried him carefully from under Jon’s arm. He didn’t think he had ever been touched by such a pretty girl, he observed.

No, not a  _girl_ , his  _sister_. He should  _not_  be so conscience of his sister’s touches nor should he observe her beauty as he was. He adjusted Lady in his arms as she settled herself, docile and calm as she closed her eyes. Ghost was behaving the opposite, licking at Sansa’s face while squirming and whining in her hold. Jon’s eyes widened in bewilderment, shocked at Ghost’s unfamiliar restlessness and  _noise_ , as he was normally such a silent animal. He readied his arms in assumption that she would give his pup back immediately at the fussing and licking, but instead she just giggled and gave him the attention he demanded. Jon blinked in disbelief when she kissed the direwolf pup’s face, shaking his head in wonder.

Was this truly his proper and uptight little sister? Allowing a wild animal to cover her face in saliva? She was  _kissing_ the animal, the animal that rolled about in the  _dirt._

“I love him,” she announced firmly. “He is the best one, next to Lady of course. Look how adorable he is. He has the prettiest fur.. like Snow.”

**_then to look at it, look at it like that_ **

Sansa bit her lip and peeked up at Jon with a self-amused smirk, proud of her little joke. He gave her an obvious sarcastic smile before he snorted in authentic amusement at her reaction to her own humor, tucking his chin away hide his breathy chuckle. She caught his laugh anyway and beamed in response, satisfied with herself. He felt that odd, fluttering feeling in his stomach again and his cheeks warmed, unfamiliar with a girl smiling at him like that.

 _No_. His  _sister._

Quickly Ghost was back in his arms and Lady back in Sansa’s when her mother loudly shouted for her to come inside. Jon’s eyes narrowed towards the direction of Catelyn’s voice as Sansa ducked her head, turning to hurry away from him. Just like that, at Catelyn’s will, Jon was once more only a bastard.

* * *

“You’re  _supposed_  to say, ‘that’s pretty,’ Jon.”

Jon’s body jerked in alarm at the sudden harsh and scolding voice that came up behind him. He turned quickly to look the offender up and down accusingly, shaking his head in confusion when he found Sansa. He pressed his lips together and turned forward again, expecting her to walk passed him after  _snapping_  at him as if she were his damn  _mother_. His eyes to the side where they had left her when he didn’t see her pass him and found her looking at him with a face full of disapproval, her wolf sitting obediently at her feet as she was too large for Sansa to carry any longer.

“What?” He demanded when she continued to stare him down, turning to scowl at her. “Say  _what’s_  pretty?”

“That girl,” she said, nodding in the direction the older girl had gone. “When she told you her name. You were  _meant_  to award it a compliment.”

“Her name wasn’t pretty,” he replied dully. “Why would I lie.”

“Because that is the polite thing to say to a lady.”

“But it’s a lie.”  _Sansa_  was a pretty name.

“Politeness and honesty don’t go hand in hand.”

“Suppose I won’t be polite then,” he told her shortly, detesting how falseness was encouraged by such people.

He shouldn’t be impatient with her. She was a girl, and she was only doing as she was a taught. She also never spoke to him, and he should try and build some sort of relationship with her while he still had the chance before she was sold off to some pretty, polite  _lord_.

Sansa let out a small puff of air in annoyance, appearing offended at him for rejecting her advice. He fought a smirk at her show of temper. Usually her brattiness irritated him, but when it was in response to  _him_  it was rather endearing. Nearly all of the boys in Winterfell would murder for Sansa to pay them any mind and respond attractively to their goading.

**_you know better babe, you know better babe_ **

_Attractively_. There he was once again, thinking of Sansa as simply a girl of Winterfell,  _the_  girl of Winterfell, rather than his sister. He definitely didn’t see her the way he saw Arya, seeing as he never found himself noting Arya’s feminine qualities. What would his father say? Robb would beat him bloody. It wasn’t  _his_  fault Catelyn kept Sansa from him. She didn’t  _allow_  him to see her as a sister.

Just as she had never allowed him to see her as a mother.

“If you ever want to be held in high regard you must learn to tell people what they want to hear. Please their ears and they will please your desires,” she lectured him, nodding. “What do you want to hear?”

“Anything other than Sansa Stark parenting me. I’m a bastard, Lady Stark. I’ve no one to impress as you do.”

“And you’ll  _always_  be a bastard if you carry on  _acting_  like one,” she replied, her voice oddly cold and lacking it’s usual light sweetness.

Jon’s breath halted in his throat, taken aback by her words. Strangely, they seemed particularly harsh despite how he had heard worse. He met her eyes, not bothering to hide the shocked hurt in his own. Her eyebrows twitched together for a moment and her head cocked, looking a bit surprised herself before a look of regret flashed in her eyes. She ducked her face to avoid his gaze, almost looking ashamed.

“It’s easy to tell what you want to hear,” she went on, her tone returning to its usual politeness before she smiled widely and dropped down to pet Ghost when he marched passed Jon and up to her. “You want to be called Stark.”

**_than to talk to it, talk to it like that_ **

“I’ll never be a Stark,” he ground out, suddenly wishing to storm away from the small girl who was currently kissing Ghost between the eyes, her cheeks and the tip of her nose adorably flushed pink from the cold.

“You wish to hear it all the same. I’m only showing you that it is easy to know what someone wants to hear.”

“Who would have ever guessed that a bastard would want to stop being a bastard?” His sarcastic tone was icy in its attempt to hide his underlying shame. “Brilliantly clever girl you are to catch  _that_.”

She looked up at him, her annoyingly stunning blue eyes watching his before looking down at his wolf when Ghost immediately began to whine after losing her attention. Jon watched the two begrudgingly, half tempted to take his wolf away from her in a show of pettiness. He surely was never allowed anything of  _hers_. No, he didn’t want to do that. He enjoyed that Sansa was interested in something of his. Lady nudged her head beneath his hand and Jon pet her compliantly, the same way he was sure he would be compliant with anything Sansa wanted of him as long as it meant she would continue to acknowledge him.

“Sansa, mother wants you inside,” Robb said, approaching the two of them.

Sansa went on scratching behind Ghost’s ears as if she hadn’t heard him until he repeated himself louder, crossing his arms and giving her a hard look for ignoring him.  “Don’t be insolent. I’m your brother.”

“She  _always_  keeps me inside,” she complained. “ _Arya_  always gets to be outside. It isn’t fair. Lady needs some fresh air.”

“Arya isn’t mother’s little lady. Now stop whining and do as mother asks, as  _I_  ask.”

She pursed her lips, a stubborn expression on her face as she looked to Arya approaching. “Which is why  _Arya_  should have to go inside since she needs to learn how to not be such a hideous beast.”

“You have to be inside because none of us like you,” Arya shot at her, glancing at Jon as if he would confirm her words. “You are airheaded and need much more time in lessons. Besides, you are too stupid to even  _survive_ outside. You will hurt yourself if there is no hero around to save the  _damsel_ in  _distress_!”

Sansa smirked, tilting her head slightly. “I have to be inside because I’m more valuable. Mother has no need to preserve you as you’re already worth next to nothing. At least a hero would  _want_ to save me.”

Arya tried to hide her offense but failed as she opened her mouth to retort but only ended up closing it again.

“Go on then. Run and tell father. Poor little Arya,” Sansa cooed, standing and crossing her arms. “‘Sansa is  _sooo_ mean to me. Sansa called me ugly. Oh, father, why does  _Sansa_ never get in trouble!’”

“It’s  _you_  who runs and tells  _mother_  everything, you awful brat! Tell her, Robb!”

Sansa narrowed her eyes at Robb, tightening her crossed arms around her chest.

“You can’t act like you never run to father, Arya,” Robb told her after glancing at Sansa’s reaction before rolling his eyes. “Enough from both of you. Go on, Sansa. Go get your wolf, Arya. You need to keep better watch on her.”

Arya’s mouth fell open and Jon almost started laughing at her outraged expression. So much ferociousness in a tiny girl. “You always defend her! I’m your sister too!” She nearly shouted after Sansa walked away, practically skipping in her taunting.

“You are, but Sansa holds a grudge better than you,” Robb chuckled. “And she runs to mother about everything, like you said, and I don’t want to deal with it. Now, do as I say.”

Arya began to protest angrily before cutting off, letting out an angry breath from her nose when she noticed Robb’s warning look. Before stomping off she shot Jon a cold look of betrayal, shoving passed him.

What was  _he_  meant to do? As both Robb and Arya had pointed out, Sansa told her mother everything. Besides, he didn’t want to be on Sansa’s bad side, not when she had only just started interacting with him by choice. Jon looked to Robb when he noticed him watching him strangely. Robb looked down to Ghost where Sansa had just been, his head slightly tilting to the side as he considered whatever was going on in his head.

“Was my sister being kind to you?” He asked curiously, looking back up to him.

 _His_  sister. Robb’s. How was Jon meant to see Sansa as he saw Arya instead of inappropriately when no one would allow him to?

“Yes. Not that she talked to me really. She likes Ghost.” Jon scratched his direwolf behind the ears, shrugging indifferently.

“I noticed. Odd, she doesn’t care about Grey Wind. Yours is the only wolf I’ve seen her fuss with other than Lady. I figured she just considered Lady cleaner than the others, but I guess she just doesn’t consider the others  _worthy_  of her affections.” Robb laughed, shaking his head as he bent down to pat Ghost on the head.

**_don’t give it a hand, offer it a soul_ **

A thrill went through him at that, making him shiver slightly in his odd rush of triumph. He felt foolish for feeling so strongly about such a simple thing. It wasn’t even  _him_  she cared for, it was Ghost. It didn’t matter. It was something of his that she preferred over something of Robb’s. Albeit a small one, it  _was_ a victory, and Jon did not have many of those when it came to the matter of Catelyn Stark’s daughter.

* * *

Jon would have never imagined himself feeling the grief he was feeling in that moment for Sansa and her loss. She had always been the pampered, flawless child who was adored by many and received endless praise. All of the Stark children were spoiled, yes, but Sansa was rarely punished, and Jon had always occasionally wished her to be.

He had never wanted to take back any of his wishes as strongly as he did that one as he watched her face the punishment of a crime she didn’t commit.

Sansa had taken so much pride in Lady, had put in so much work to train her. Her direwolf was the tamest out of all the others, and much like Sansa she never faltered in what was expected of her. Pressed to a tree, Sansa wept into arms folded over her knees, her body as tightly closed into a ball as it were able. He had heard some of the direwolves howling, but Ghost had only whined. His direwolf took a few steps forward and then backwards again, staring at Sansa.

“You must leave her,” Jon murmured, sighing as he pet the head of his direwolf. “She is mourning Lady. We don’t want to upset her even more.” The last thing Jon wanted to do was throw his own direwolf in Sansa’s face.

“If she hadn’t  _lied_ then we’d  _both_  still have our wolves!” Arya growled, appearing by his side.

“I told you to train Nymeria, Arya,” Jon said quietly, inwardly sighing at the way his sister had such little empathy for Sansa. Still, he understood. They were young girls and Sansa had lied, but she was also shoved in front of the king and queen. He didn’t know what else she could have done seeing as she couldn’t very well expose the prince. “Many times we’ve told you.”

“You.. you’re blaming  _me_?!”

Jon looked down at Arya as she furiously wiped the fresh tears that sprang into her eyes with her wrist.

“I’m not blaming  _either_  of you. I’m just letting you know that you aren’t as innocent as you’re acting.”

“Sansa lied!” Arya cried, not bothering to wipe her tears now. “And now Nymeria is gone!”

“And how would you have Sansa punished?” Jon snapped back, glowering down at her. “Have her own direwolf taken away as well? Well, there you have it. Lady is dead.”

He closed his eyes for a moment as his sister let out a small sob in response. He sighed, moving forward in an attempt to pull her into a hug before she quickly turned her heal and sprinted away. He rubbed his eyes with one hand before looking down at the spot Ghost was missing from.

Ah, and he had just lectured  _Arya_  about not training her direwolf properly.

Of course Ghost had made his way over to the weeping girl, nosing his way under her arms where her face was buried. Jon tensed as he feared her response, worried she would shove his direwolf away and become even more distraught. Instead she shakily got onto her knees on the muddy ground and wrapped her arms around Ghost’s neck, audibly sobbing then as she gathered him closer and pressed her face into his fur.

Jon’s chest painfully tightened at the scene. He was elated at how  _he_  had been able to help Sansa in some way, but heartbroken at the circumstances, heartbroken for the little girl whose body he could see violently shaking with her cries from where he stood despite the considerable distance he was away from her. He didn’t think he had ever seen Sansa covered in dirt before. It looked wrong.

Her pretty face covered in pain, striped with tears that seemed as though they’d never end, looked wrong.

* * *

Jon stared down at the girl below, her hair a flame of fire amongst the dark greys and pale drifting snow of Castle Black. The world around him slowed, going silent as he was deafened in his disbelief. She turned slowly before her eyes found him and he could see the bright blues of them despite the weather, despite the distance between them, they were unmistakable. Her lips parted as she fully turned to face him, waiting for him as he slowly made his way down the steps. He didn’t blink, didn’t dare look anywhere else in the fear that if he lost sight of her, even if only for a moment, she would disappear.

As he drew nearer, sorrow began to trickle down his spine as he took in the remains of what he remembered Sansa to be. She was a tragic mess appearance wise, though no amount of dirt or matted hair could ever cover how striking she was, how even  _more_ radiant she had become since he had last seen her. Of course she was older and her features had only grown more beautiful and alluring with age, that he would have expected, but what he hadn’t expected was her once sure and proud posture so hauntingly withdrawn and defeated, jarring against the memory he held of her.

He couldn’t begin to imagine what had been done to sweet, doe-eyed Sansa, but all he knew was that even the beginnings of the possibilities his mind began to consider made him see red.

He paused in front of her, staring at her in wonder and despair. He wasn’t sure what to do. Was he meant to go to her? Greet her? Ask her if she was alright? It was clear she wasn’t at all  _alright_. He waited for her to make the first move, just as he always had. He wasn’t sure he could move or speak if he tried, not with the amount of overwhelming emotions that were plundering his insides, more vicious than any storm he had ever moaned about. She stared back at him for a few moments, her eyes swimming with more emotion than he knew how to read on anyone, let alone on a girl he never knew.

Abruptly, she was throwing herself at him to latch herself onto him as his legs brought him forward, his arms moving instinctively to catch her. He clutched her tightly to his chest as she buried her face into his shoulder, drinking in the warmth of her while she held onto him for dear life. She was  _alive_ , and she was alive where he could keep her  _safe_. He felt her nuzzle her face against him and he held her tighter, his heart dropping to his feet.

**_honey, make this easy_ **

He suddenly found himself wishing it were him who had died rather than Robb. Robb was who she needed, and Jon wanted more for her than what little he could offer. Still, he would offer everything he had. She could have everything, his life, his soul, anything to coax some of the lost and abused spirit back into her eyes.

* * *

“Sansa.” Jon watched her hesitantly from the doorway of the chambers he had given her to stay in, his usual room.

He stopped and was quiet for a moment, watching her walk backwards from him to sit on the edge of his bed after she had opened the door, finishing her braid. He sighed and closed the door behind him after she waved him in when he still hadn’t moved from the entrance, scowling at the cold that swept in. He went to the window, staring at the stone that surrounded it as he contemplated. 

“I want you to tell me what happened to you. I won’t force you, but I want you to.”

Was it his right to ask that of her? Was it his right to  _know_? He wasn’t a Stark, and they were hardly able to be considered much of siblings with the little amount of time they had spent together as children. He doubted Sansa would want to speak on such personal matters to him, especially when such matters had to do with a man like Ramsay Bolton, whose letter had left very little to the imagination. In order to remain as calm as manageable, Jon had been repeatedly telling himself that the letter had been exaggerating, a means to scare him, but he knew better. No man vile enough to write such things would be any less than off paper.

And that man had been Sansa’s  _husband._

His words were followed with silence. He grit his teeth together as guilt gnawed at him for intruding, but he had to know, had to at least  _try_ to know. Whether or not he was her optimal choice, he was who she had, and he had to make her his business if he wanted to be there for her properly. He would go mad if he was left to guess, though he was also sure he was likely to go mad either way, especially if Sansa suffered worse than what he would have come up with his on his own.

“Happened to me when?” Sansa finally asked, the mocking humor in her tone coated with bitterness.

Jon turned, finding Sansa staring at the ground with glassy eyes. The chill that clawed up his shoulders at the haunted shadows of her face caused him to physically shiver, feeling as though it were physically weighing him down.

For her to respond with  _that_.. Well, that only meant that she had suffered things prior to marrying Ramsay Bolton that  _compared_ to her time with him.

He strode over to her, sitting on the edge of the bed beside her. He felt the frantic urgency in his eyes as he searched hers, looking down at her hands as his mouth opened to reply. He was at a loss for a moment as thoughts swarmed around his head, the chaos of them making it impossible for him to latch on to one. He touched the leather tie held limply in her hand carefully as though it were something precious, momentarily dazed as grief and failure swept over him, knocking him down onto his back.  _His_ failure. He had failed her as her brother, failed to protect her.

Gently he moved his fingers through her grasp to slip the tie from it, taking the rest of the hair that rested over her shoulder to finish the last of the braid. His hands were steady in her thick and silken hair until he tied it off, his hands lightly trembling as he finished securing it. His hands paused when he led her braid back to its place over her shoulder, resting there for a moment as though to steady themselves before he let them drop down to find her hands. He ran his thumbs over her fingers as if he needed to confirm the life they contained, to hold onto it and ensure it remained, to ensure it would remain with  _him_. The warmth under the initial chill of her skin, the blood that still flowed, he had to keep it there. He had to prove to her that she could trust him to keep it there.

He knew it was improper, the setting they were in and the closeness of their positions on the bed, but he didn’t care. That didn’t matter. He only cared about knowing. Knowing  _her_ , the half-sister he had never known, and all that she had suffered. Every wound and torment had been kept locked inside of her scarred mind, and he needed to relieve her and take as much of the burden as he were able.

“Everything, Sansa. Everything after we parted ways, right after your wolf was taken from you.”

He watched her turn her head completely away from him then, closing her eyes in shame. He rubbed her fingers gently in his hands again, thankful she hadn’t pulled away from him. The shame on her face was telling. He feared her to drift away entirely should she still decide to pull her hands from his.

“It was my fault,” she choked out softly, her head hanging slightly between them. He followed the tear that rolled from her cheek to fall onto his hand, staring at the wet spot it had left behind. She reached up to wipe her eyes as more threatened to pool over but still didn’t remove her hand from his, bringing it along as she used the part of her hand he wasn’t covering to smear the quickly chilling paths away instead. His knuckles brushed against her cheek as she lowered their hands and found it hot.

“Her blood.. is on  _my_  hands.  _I_  k-killed her.. My Lady..”

Her words struck him where he lay on his back from the previous blows, kicking him fiercely in the ribs as he took in the words and then the deeper meaning behind them that went beyond the life of her direwolf.

She blamed everything on herself.

Everything.

“I killed everyone.”

An ache filled his throat, making it difficult for him to breathe. He released one of her hands to slip his fingers into her loosely braided hair, still damp from her bath, and brace them against the back of her head. Waiting for her to turn and look at him at his touch, he urged her head forward, meeting her forehead with his gently.

“Tell me, Sansa. Tell me what you  _believe_ is your fault and why, as I know Lady’s death  _surely wasn’t_ , which leads me to believe that you’re mistaken of your other supposed faults as well. I need to know what happened. I would never dream of judging you.” His voice was hoarse in its sincerity, pleading with her. He moved his hand back down to capture her abandoned one once more. She watched him bring her hand up to his mouth as he kissed her knuckles, her skin somehow perfectly soft despite how weathered she had been upon arrival.

“I judge myself,” she nearly whispered. Her eyelids drooped in both exhaustion and shame. “I caused everything. Father.. and in result the war.. Arya running away.. and then  _married_ the men of families that  _murdered_ them. I allowed a man whose father betrayed our family and took part in the Red Wedding to  _defile_ my body in any way that pleased him all because I couldn’t die as a true Stark would have a long time ago, as I  _should_ have died a long time ago, long before any of  _them_. All because I only know how to do what I’m good at and be a good  _stupid_ little girl whose head is only filled with  _pretty_ little songs who only knows how to obey vile men and their  _pretty_ little words. I bend at their will and their manipulations and romancing and  _lies_  that I’m too stupid to see through, too stupid to doubt.. too stupid to believe I’d ever be valuable beyond a simple, brainless trading piece in this game to any man. Lady Sansa Stark. The girl too pretty to live and die hidden in Winterfell, they said. They forgot to mention the fact that she was  _unworthy_ to live and die in Winterfell, that she was as much a Stark as Joffrey was a Baratheon. Better off born a bastard, really. Then she would not have been able to drag the name she didn’t deserve through the dirt and rotting corpses of the deaths she caused along with her.”

Jon clenched his teeth, his body jerking as he resisted his immediate reaction to pull away at his body’s impulse to recoil from her words. So broken, so hateful towards herself that the pure loathing in her voice coated his lungs with dread and had his heart flinching.

How could the gods allow it? How could they lay the weight of a thousand sins upon an innocent girl’s shoulders as if they were her own simply for committing the crime of naivety? For dreaming as a young girl dreams and believing herself the princess that she had been raised to believe she was?

_“I have to be inside because I’m more valuable.”_

Little Lady Stark, raised and preserved like a fine wine only to be condemned for staining the clothes of those who shattered its bottle in carelessness.

Her eyes were on their hands that he had resting on his leg, and Jon was suddenly incredibly conscious of how close they were. He bit down the overwhelmingly strong desire to hold her inappropriately close, cradle her in his arms, press his face into her hair. He wanted to comfort her, but not in a way any brother should ever comfort his sister.

**_leave it to the land, this is what it knows_ **

Sister. His sister. She had been taken advantage of enough as it was without him adding his own indecencies to the mix. He was disgusted to catch himself thinking of his little sister in such a way while she sat before him, sticky with her own tears that had yet to dry. He wasn’t a boy any longer. He could not hide behind the excuse of boyish impulses. He needed to move himself away from her and duck his face in shame.

He didn’t do either.

Of course he didn’t. He was not as respectable as Robb, the real brother meant to comfort her in his place. Instead, he ran his thumb over her knuckles, stupidly and egotistically satisfied at the way his hold had warmed her skin. What was  _wrong_  with him?

“Sansa,” he said softly after a while, ducking his head to catch her downcast eyes and bare the sincerity of his own to her witness as she had no reason to trust him, no reason to trust anyone. “Tell me what happened. From the beginning, from the end, from anywhere you want. Just talk to me.”

The pleading in his tone remained, but there was an added need in his words, a familiar stinging as it seeped from old wounds.

 _“Speak to me,”_  he would silently beg to Catelyn Stark as a small boy, to little Sansa who was both a sister and a stranger.  _“I can_ make _you like me._   _Please, I don’t_ mean _to be a bastard. I’m_ sorry _, Lady Catelyn, I promise I will fix it!”_

Unspoken words that had formed in his throat before he knew better than to think Lady Stark or her treasured daughter ever capable of  _liking_ him.

He waited for her to turn away, for her face to fall cold and stony just as he remembered it when he would wish for anything different. His eyes went back down to their hands with a small start as she curled her fingers around his tighter and scooted herself closer to him, her thigh pressing firmly against his. He looked back up to find her eyes searching his, the blues of them warped in the brimming of her tears and so close that he was likely able to count each and every one of her long eyelashes that he had seen her look up through and bat more times than he could remember as a child whenever she wished to get her way, which was always.

And she had always gotten it.

Her breath touched his face and a very animalistic urge fought to take command of him when his vision zeroed in on the tongue she gracefully swept between her lips to wet them while her eyes flicked back and forth between his as she hesitated. Had she not been holding onto him the way she was while so fragile with emotional vulnerability he would have already ripped himself away from her and out of the castle entirely in his disbelief and panic for his dishonorable, disgustingurges for his  _hurting_ sister who trusted him enough to offer him intimate details of all that tormented her and painted with blood the image of the woman she had been forced to become in front of him.

**_honey, that’s how it sleeps_ **

If there was ever an appropriate time to think of one’s sister in such a way,  _that time was not then._

Rather unfortunately, as Sansa’s experiences began to spill from her lips, Jon’s mind was wiped completely of such internal indecencies as the hideous distractions that faced him through his learnings left room for little else. 

The searing anger that pulsed through him and branded itself into his throat was unmatchable. Of all the things that had ever happened to him, of all the times he had ever felt choked with fury, none of it compared to what he felt listening to Sansa describe her trauma, her eyes distant as words covered in a hollow, detached tone of voice spilled out in what seemed an endless stream.

Perfectly mannered, perfectly innocent Sansa whose honor as a lady meant everything to her, stripped and beaten in front of the court over Robb’s success. A night had struck her, a small girl, in the stomach, hit her with the flat of his sword, ripped her dress from her body as she sobbed and begged on the floor. His mind formed and colored the scene, flashing it behind his eyes in a hundred different ways as he was left with only his imagination to picture what such an unjust cruelty could have possibly looked like. With self loathing in her eyes Sansa admitted she still had stated out loud to love Joffrey before shaking her head in disgust and claiming Arya would never have been so weak, that Arya would have gladly died before abandoning her pride in such a way. His stomach rolled at that and only continued to roll the more and more she spoke, the more and more she blamed herself. It was too much. He opened his mouth to protest the way she shamed herself but nothing managed to come out of it other than a small choking sound. Sansa  _wasn’t_  Arya, and for that Jon was grateful. Arya was indeed bold, and the fact had always made him grin and swell with brotherly affection, however, such thoughtless bravery led to an early grave.

Aye, one could lay in that grave with pride, but a grave all the same. Jon preferred Sansa there in front of him, her body still warm with cheeks still lightly flushed with life.

Despite simple and surfaced views on the matter, Sansa was brave. She was  _strong_. She was brave to remain there, holding her own as she forced herself to adapt to her surroundings as quickly as possible. They were from the North, such behaviors belonging to the South were much different from what their people did to survive. Most men would not be brave enough to step into unfamiliar waters of behavior and instead would give up on trying, curling in on themselves to accept their fate. She was strong in that she had been able to swallow her pride when she needed and took the blows with her head still high and words still pretty, her heart somehow remaining intact through it all.

He had felt as though he’d gotten a decent hold on himself, allowing the flames of his anger to blister and lick at his lungs in silence without fear of losing his mind and frightening the remaining life out of her.

And then she began to tell him of Ramsay Bolton.

* * *

Jon called Sansa’s name as he glowered at his direwolf who was trotting through the snow leisurely, griping at him about how he somehow always managed to disappear at the most inconvenient of times. Ghost ignored his complaints but his stride stuttered and his ears perked at the mention of her name.

“Mmm. Mhm. Thought as much. Would’ve seen her earlier had you been around.” He adjusted his gloves as he grumbled, glancing up at the snow when he noticed it float passed his face.

Jon looked towards Sansa when he saw Ghost still and stare directly passed him. A small smile pulled at his lips when her features were pronounced by the glow of the snow consumed night, the etherial effect of her stunning enough to catch the lingering gazes of even the most devoted of men, and all means of functioning were momentarily lost as he took in the vision before him.

“Ghost, be -“ Jon started to warn, his eyes widening a fraction after cutting off as he watched Ghost launch himself at Sansa when her face lit up in recognition. He cringed back as he waited for the collision, not quick enough to control the beast from trampling her the same way Ghost trampled him. Sansa allowed herself to be knocked onto her backside by the direwolf, peals of laughter filling the silence of the night, harmonizing with the restless and enthusiastic whines from Ghost.

He watched the scene in reverence, shaking his head slightly to clear the disbelief that the breathtaking picture before him was truly reality and not of his dreams. Somehow he still found himself blinking back surprise at the lack of mind Sansa paid her newly made dress as it was soiled with wet snow and mud from the direwolf’s paws. Instead, she only continued to laugh and coo with affection while he licked her, his damp nose dragging across her skin. Their brief encounters from their youth played through his head, reminding him that there was no reason to expect any different from Sansa’s reaction, no reason to continue to see her as the spoiled little girl who screamed and whined if she had even a speck of dirt on her skirts. That was the illusion of her that everyone else had seen, and she deserved more from him than a perspective that matched the same of those who held no respect for her.

Sansa replied to Ghost’s show of adoration by pressing her forehead against his, closing her eyes while a brilliant smile rested on her face. It was the first time since she had found him that Jon had seen her truly look at peace. Not a soul in Westeros would question the house of the woman before him whose gentle hands were buried into the coat of the direwolf’s neck, her white flecked hair loosely falling out of its northern style as she knelt in the snow in tranquil silence. Aye, she was a Stark, and in the dance of emotion upon her face it was apparent she had decided the same, finally leaving her own doubts regarding her name behind.

She had found her wolf.

* * *

Jon knew it wasn’t enough, did she think he didn’t already  _know it wasn’t enough_?

He could feel the blaze of his eyes as he got into her face, feel his voice lightly shaking as he raised it to the point of shouting. He stopped and let out a breath, taking in her small gasp and falter in demeanor, backing down from him as he took the role as alpha.

His anger diminished instantly at the sight of her. He searched her eyes for the fear he worried his harsh advancement caused, relief and a flash of odd, victorious adrenaline falling over him when he found none. She wasn’t scared of him, but respected the position he realized he had demanded and accepted his word as the last.

A respect he would die before he abuse.

He dropped his gaze before softening his voice, the heat of the argument cooling and leaving only the multi-layered tension behind, the thickness of it leaving him claustrophobic.  

**_don't let it in with with no intention to keep it_ **

When he had to fight the fierce impulse to yank Sansa back to him, to hold her as long as he possibly could before diving into the impossible battle that faced him, he knew it a great mercy for her to walk away from him as she was. She needed to leave before the thought of his last bit of time with her being wasted compromised his rational thought even more so than her presence already had. She stopped, looking to him with a cold expression as she spoke her last piece before leaving him alone with the inflicted blow.

The lurch his heart made at her petrifying words, her  _promise_ ,cut into him.

_“Do you understand me?”_

Aye, he understood her, but he would pay any price in the world to change the fact.

“I won’t  _ever_  let him touch you again.” He struggled to keep his words coherent,  _needing_ her to understand the sincerity,  _needing_ her to know just how much she meant to him,  _every_  way she meant to him.

“No one can protect me. No one can protect anyone.”

The knife Sansa had plunged into him twisted.

* * *

_“Please their ears and they will please your desires,”_

_“You’ll_ always _be a bastard if you carry on_ acting  _like one.”_

Jon stared at the ground of the empty Great Hall, envisioning it filled as it once was as he stood beside the spot Catelyn Stark would sit, her eyes holding warmth and pride for everyone except for him. For him she only reserved looks of distaste and resentment and made it a point to stare him down with her contempt until he noticed before looking back to her children with the tenderness of a mother he would never know.

Sansa’s kindness towards him.. Well, she had wanted Winterfell back, she had needed his help to do so. Ah, falling for the falseness of a highborn, a bastard’s downfall.

**_jesus christ, don't be kind to it._ **

Had he acted as a bastard would? Throwing away so many lives, lives that believed in, lives that he cared for, for what? The castle that only ever diminished his self worth as the years ticked on? The arrangement of stone and wood that  _Sansa_ had wanted as it was hers? Sansa, the girl who lied to him, the girl who taught him to lie to achieve, the girl who always had the prettiest words to get what she wished, the girl who only ever acknowledged him when he had something she wanted, as  _Ghost_ had been the one she had said goodbye to when he had left Winterfell, just as the men and the safety he could provide her was what brought her back to him, but only after all other men of option were gone.

Sansa, the daughter of Catelyn Stark. The woman who had made it her duty to ensure there wasn’t a single  _moment_ that Jon forgot he was a bastard, that he was not a Stark, that he was  _less than_ her children.

_“It’s easy to tell what you want to hear. You want to be called Stark.”_

Jon closed his eyes as the girl version of Sansa replaced itself with the broken one that had choked out all of her guilt and sufferings to him, the one who slept with Ghost in her bed every night, the one who had made him a cloak that mirrored their father’s, the one he heard scream in her sleep more than once. Nothing had been more authentic than Sansa in such vulnerable moments, the best of liars could never pull off an act that matched. He shook his head at himself, ashamed he would fall back into the mindset of a jealous, bitter little boy. To suspect her of using him, to believe she only wanted the castle back to regain her title alone..

 _That_ was acting as a bastard would.

* * *

“You are to me.”

**_honey don't feed it - it will come back_ **

Jon’s breath caught and his vision unfocused. There it was, what he wanted to hear. His heart thudded in his ears and that scorned little boy surfaced once more to drag his immediate joy back down. He inwardly winced at the dismissive tone that lined his words of reply, right before speaking accusingly on the matter of Littlefinger. He resented the distrust in his voice, resented the fact he had not outgrown the immature child as he thought he had.

Of course not, if he hadn’t outgrown the perversion that was the way he looked at his own sister then why would he have outgrown his habit of practicing self-pity?

His chest pained him when he saw the remorse and shame in her face as she expressed her regret for keeping the truth from him. Her body language had changed into something skittish, almost restless. She was worried, worried of how he would react. She was  _scared_ of him, expecting him to punish her in some way. He looked away from her eyes as they pleaded for his forgiveness, bewildered and disbelieving at how he had allowed her to believe she had anything to be frightened of. She was why he was there, she was why he had  _kept fighting_.

She was all that mattered. Without her, nothing was worth the struggle anymore.

He wanted to weep at the nervous way she shifted as he approached her, bracing herself for what was to come as he was placed into the position of a man to fear in her mind.

The moment his lips met her skin he was screaming at himself for such a mistake. His hand slightly tightened against her head as he willed her to stay so close to him for longer than she should, needed his lips on her skin for much longer and in more ways than a brother ever should. He forcefully pulled his head back and found that her face had lost any worry in it just as he had intended. He lost himself in the small second their eyes locked together, in the small way the corners of her mouth lifted and beckoned him forward before he reigned himself back, pressing his lips together firmly as he let her go.

He was more sick than a Targaryen, for he was quite sure they hadn’t desired their sisters after they had been hurt and manipulated by so many,  _used_ by so many, for their own gain. He would not use her, he would not abuse her faith in him by allowing this to go on. She deserved much, much better, but he was all that was left. He had to take Robb’s place as her hero.  _Robb_ would never have allowed himself to be so immoral,  _Robb_ would never have allowed himself thoughts of such degeneracy.

But Robb hadn’t saved Sansa either, for Robb had cared more for the crown, Robb had viewed her as a valuable item of trade just as others always have.

Jon didn’t.

* * *

“Ser,” Jon said shortly, stopping before the Vale knight as he smiled and nodded toward Sansa after watching her for far too long. “Somewhere you need to be? Somewhere where you’d actually be useful?”

“Doesn’t appreciate you gawking at his pretty little sister,” Tormund’s voice came gruffly as he made his way over to stand beside Jon. “Thinks you’re after what’s under her skirts.”

“She’s a kind woman.” The knight glanced at Jon, inclining his head toward her as she smiled back to him before kneeling next to a child waiting for her attention. “I’d never mean any disrespect, your grace. She asked me to help her with-“

“I didn’t ask about your attentions toward my sister nor did I ask for your reasoning behind them,” he cut him off. “I asked you if there was anything better you could be doing. Everyone needs to be putting in effort if everyone wants to survive.”

“What,” Jon said flatly to Tormund in response to his eyeballing, readjusting his gloves after the knight bowed his head and left the two of them. “The same applies to you, by the way, unless of course you don’t wish to be a part of the ‘everyone’ that survives.”

“Bit hostile about her.”

“She is my sister. I don’t exactly have too many siblings left to spare, if you hadn’t already noticed.”

“I’ve known men who ate other men, Jon Snow. Just remember that most obscenities pale in comparison when you’re wondering my level of judgement.”

Jon’s hands stilled and he stared forward at the ground before he turned to him with a glare. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Tormund made a motion of surrender with his hands. “Talking about whatever you think I am, whatever just had you ready to jump for my jugular.”

“Clearly I’ve no idea what I  _think_  you’re talking about seeing as I’ve just asked.”

Tormund grinned before nodding, frowning thoughtfully. “I think you do, but I’ll take your word for it. I’m sure you’d never lie to me.”

Jon stared at him, wearing his clear lack of entertainment on his face until Tormund strolled off, chuckling in a way that only grated at Jon’s nerves further.

* * *

In the dead of night, Jon sat with his eyes closed as he internally battled himself on how to handle the dangers hurdling towards them. The dead did not sleep as they did, and the thought tore his insides apart. How was he to protect his people? How was he to be a king to them? How was he meant to protect Sansa and be a proper king to  _her_? It was too much for him, and he didn’t want it, didn’t want the title, not as he thought he did as a child. Foolish boy he was, bitter and unappreciative of his upbringing, too eager to get away from those he loved, too jealous to see how lucky he had been. He had  _everything_  before he lost almost all of it, and what he had left would be lost as well if he were to fail them.

If he were to fail her.

Jon lurched in his seat to snatch the shadow that had crept up on him, his body twisting as he halfway threw them over his shoulder to slam them down on the table in front of him, the yelp of his victim echoing throughout the hall. His face paled and his stomach dropped. His hands froze on the tops of Sansa’s arms where he gripped her before he loosened his hold and gently helped her up, a rush of regretful apologies pouring from his throat. His heart thumped loudly in his ears and he gathered her close to his chest, his eyes wide with remorse as he collapsed back into his seat. He cradled her to him as his heart rate sped, afraid to know if he had hurt her very badly, not thinking of the way he clutched her in his lap. She stirred and Jon blinked, abashed at the boundaries he had crossed just after assaulting her. She didn’t pull away as he had loosened his arms to allow, but instead resettled herself and leaned her head into his chest, wincing.

“It’s alright, Jon. I snuck up on you,” she mumbled, sounding dizzy.

“Did I hurt you?”

“You’re very strong.”

“Sansa,” he said impatiently, leaning back to assess her, straining his eyes through the darkness. “Are you hurt.”

“No. Just.. the wind was knocked out of me,” she breathed. “Though I’m sure I’ll bruise.”

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, his hold tightening as he stilled when she cuddled herself against his chest and pulled his cloak around to cover herself with.

“Don’t be. Of course you would be jumpy.”

He noticed how her voice was wavering and he realized he must have scared her more than anything, of course she’d be put out after what she had been put through. He swallowed at the way she nuzzled her cheek closer to his neck where his gambeson wasn’t covering him, seeking the warmth of his skin.

**_you know better babe, you know better babe_ **

“You should be getting some sleep.” His voice was slightly edged, strained as desire began to pool into his stomach, dragging him back into his pit of shame for his hideous feelings for his sister.

“Its cold,” she said softly. “And I’m scared. I wanted you. You weren’t in your chambers.”

_“I wanted you.”_

Why was she doing this to him?

“I couldn’t sleep. Would you like me to help with your fire?”

“Not if you’re going to leave me after.” She tightened her hold, snatching the breath from his lungs when she fully pressed her face into his neck and Jon was sure he heard his sanity snap.

**_than to smile at me, smile at me like that_ **

_Fuck_. She meant to kill him, undo him. Her lips were directly brushing over his pulse, her cheek and nose cool against his warm skin.

“Sansa..”

“Will you sleep in the lord’s chambers tonight with me? I don’t want to be alone.”

His limbs locked in place as his eyes glazed over, staring straight ahead at nothing as his mind went completely blank.

“Please?’ Her voice was quiet and slightly embarrassed. Her body squirmed and he let out a hiss of a breath, catching one of her wrists in his hands as his body jerked into full attention; every part of his body focusing on Sansa’s.

"That isn’t a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s  _highly_ improper!” He reprimanded her, his tone bemused. “ _‘Why not?’_ Honestly, Sansa.”

“You’ve never cared about propriety before,” she responded quickly, shortly. “ _Suddenly_  you care?”

“And you’ve never  _not_ cared about propriety before. Suddenly you  _don’t_  care?”

“No.” Her voice was cold. “Not as I did. Where did it ever get me? I was perfect, a perfect  _lady_ , and what did I get in return? What do I have to show for it? I care. I have values. But not all of them. Not when it compromises my heart and what I believe. Besides, this is already improper. The way you  _look_ at me is improper, the way-“

**_you know better babe, you know better babe_ **

“What?”

“Don’t.”

Jon felt as though he was struggling not to swallow his own tongue as he seemed to be choking on it. He closed his eyes, panicking in the nightmare of a situation he had allowed himself to fall into. The word replayed in his head without pause and he tried desperately to come up with a different meaning behind it, a different meaning to her words prior. He was paranoid, surely. If he gave a reaction it would only damn him further.

She wasn’t  _stupid_.

“You have Ghost, Sansa. Or have you forgotten the companion you have stolen from by side? And to think people compare them to dogs. Dogs are loyal.” His tone was droll, sounding as unaffected as he had hoped.

He  _was_ unaffected, he  _needed_ to be unaffected, and he  _had_ to prevent Sansa from seeing any more of the “improper looks” she had already referred to seeing.

“It’s not my fault Ghost prefers me to you,” she told him, putting on her sweet and innocent tone, becoming the coy little girl he remembered her as before she had been reintroduced to him. “I’m kinder to him.”

Jon snorted, leaning back and pulling his head away to give her a doubtful look. 

“No.”

“I am,” she insisted defiantly, tilting her nose up a bit. “I brush him, which you clearly never have, considering-“

“Ghost is a wild animal,” he said flatly as his regarded her with a dull look before readjusting in his seat again, closing his eyes in defeat when she resettled herself again, somehow seeming even closer to him. “He doesn’t need  _brushing._ He is a direwolf, not a dog.”

“He loves it when I brush him,” she told him, her tone haughty, challenging him to prove her wrong. “Clearly I know him better. If you did he would prefer you.”

Jon’s eyes rolled back into his head. “You know, I don’t  _have_ to allow him -“

“You can’t control  _Ghost_ , Jon, he’s a  _wild animal_ ,” she mocked, childishly changing her voice to what he guessed was meant to be his own in an exaggerated accent. “He is a  _direwolf_ , Jon, not a  _dog._ ”

“Mmm. You finished?”

“What do you mean? I’m only following your lessons.”

“You’re only acting like a child is what you’re doing,” he said roughly, more on edge than usual given the situation with Sansa’s persistent intrusion of his personal space. “You’re being a brat.”

He felt her shrug, pausing for a moment. She shifted so she was tucked lower in his embrace to duck her face from view even though it had already been. He felt the muscles in his jaw work as he rubbed his teeth together, considering the option of shoving her off.

_**than to hold me just, hold me just like that** _

She wasn’t a  _little girl_. Girls her age didn’t normally sit in their brother’s laps. Had she even sat in Robb’s lap as a  _child_? He couldn’t remember, but he did remember her aversion to anyone touching her at all.

“What, Sansa,” he breathed out impatiently when she decided to hold her tongue, leaning back in an attempt to see her face.

A small, self assured smile pulled at her lips. When he saw the recognizable glint in her eyes he returned to his blind position immediately, his unfocused eyes searching the ground as he guessed at what she could possibly be thinking while wearing the same look on her face she had worn whenever some doting boy gave her his fruitless attentions and sated her ego for a small while until she batted her eyes at the next.

“You liked me just fine when I was a child, Jon. That would lead me to believe you enjoy when I act a brat.”

He let out the breath that he had been holding, conscious of the way it audibly fell uneven as his face pulled together in somewhat of a confused expression, confused and  _hurt_. He didn’t feel the mortification and lung seizing shame as he would have expected, what the morally correct reaction would have been. Instead, an odd sense of betrayal settled into his stomach, gathering there with the growing sting of deceit. She  _did_ know of his depraved eye for her.

No, she  _had_   _known._

What she was doing, what she had  _done_ , wandering into his presence with her soft spoken words and teasing kindness as though he may truly mean something more than a source of safety, playing with him in her hands and pulling him in every which way that suited or amused her, sitting in his lap as though she meant to  _seduce_ him, was the exact same way he had known her to treat every boy foolish enough to adore the falsely innocent Sansa. A fool she had made of him just the same, exercising her perfected manipulation and adding to her collection of those who would do nearly anything for her. Smart girl, a survivor. She had survived thus far through such deceptive methods, why would she stop?

_“Poor Jon. He gets jealous because he’s a bastard.”_

Arya had told him how Sansa had assumed him jealous of the prince simply for his crown, had called her an idiot who had nothing in her head aside from vanity and self serving ambition, but Arya had been wrong. Sansa only played with boys unworthy of her, as  _she_ became the adoring, pliant shadow of boys  _worthy_ of her, boys who would grow up to be men of power and reputation, and Sansa certainly wasn’t the one trailing after  _him_. He had been jealous of the prince because of her, because she thought so much of a stranger while she thought nothing of her  _brother_ who had been beside her since she had been born while somehow might as well been in a completely separate kingdom.

His ears faintly registered Sansa trailing after him, her concerned tone confused and wounded as though  _he_ had manipulated  _her_. No, Jon wasn’t  _polite_ as Sansa was, wasn’t talented at telling people what they wanted to hear. He was and would always be a bastard, just as Sansa had told him. Nothing was worth the games his half-sister played, and if that was the conclusion of a bastard then he would wear such a title proudly.

* * *

Jon stirred at the growling at his door, squinting tiredly in the direction of it. “Not now, Ghost. Go back to Sansa.”

He’d avoided her for several days despite how he knew she’d been trying to speak with him. The night before he had heard crying in her chambers and his stomach had twisted so fiercely he had slightly doubled over. He had done that,  _he_ had made her cry, just as the monsters that had hurt her had.

He was one of them.

No,  _she_ had lead him to this.  _She_ chose to play with him and his disgraceful thoughts toward her instead of keeping her distance and  _not_  play into his dark and immoral thoughts of her,  _not_  encourage them. She had hurt him, and he supposed he deserved the pain. He was the one disgusting enough to lust after her.

_**i know who i am when i'm alone** _

But didn’t she care for his pain as he cared for hers?

“ _Fuck_ , Ghost.” He shoved the furs off of his body furiously and yanked his door open, throwing his hands up in the air. “What is it you want that’s important enough to disturb the rest I haven’t been able to get a proper amount of in  _weeks_ , you unfaithful beast.”

The direwolf’s lips were curled threateningly, clearly finding no amusement in Jon’s exasperation. He turned and trotted away from him, expecting Jon to follow.

He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his eyes between his thumb and first two fingers as he let out a slow breath through his nose. With an irritated growl, he snatched his cloak up from the heap he had left it in and followed after Ghost, throwing the cloak over him with more dramatic movement than necessary.

Jon’s eyes found the ceiling as he was lead exactly where he had been suspecting. “Did  _she_  send-“

He broke off and opened his eyes at Ghost’s low whine as he made the rest of the way over to Sansa’s door. Ghost scratched at it, backing up with another whine.

She had shut him out.

“She doesn’t want you in there,” he murmured, petting the direwolf’s head, looking back towards the door as a pained expression covered his face.

He felt her so vulnerable without his direwolf to protect her, without a piece of  _him_ to protect her. It was as though he had his back to his enemies, waiting to be stabbed. Hewas vulnerable when she was. She was his heart, she was the reason he had come back to himself, she was the reason he found his will to fight again.

He rested his forehead lightly against her door, aching with his conflicting thoughts. He loathed the distance he had forced between them, loathed himself for consciously hurting her, but what other choice did he have? Even if he ignored the fact she had manipulated him, the more he was around her he only felt his need for her progress.

But she had known.. She had known, and still she was fine with it. She wasn’t disgusted by it. She had attempted to tease and seduce him-

 _No._ He wouldn’t allow himself such thoughts.

“Sleep in front of her door, Ghost,” he ordered him. “I can’t let you in. I’ve no right to open her chambers unless she asks.”

Jon narrowed his eyes when the direwolf growled again. “And just who do you think you’re growling at exactly? Without me you’d be  _dead_ , you realize.”

Both of their heads snapped to Sansa’s door when a muffled scream leaked through the tight crevices of it, filling Jon’s senses with dread. The scream broke off into a horrible sob and Jon pressed himself close to the door, his hand on the latch of it. Ghost whined louder, scuffling about behind Jon as he reared back and forth in impatience. Jon cringed as another scream sounded, turning his head away slightly as his hand trembled.

_**something else when i see you** _

He let himself in by the third, unable to listen to such gut-wrenching sounds any longer. He knelt down by her side, placing the back of his hand against her heated, tear stained cheek, softly voicing her name. He searched her face worriedly as she jolted awake and held her steadily as her tearful eyes focused on him. He physically deflated when more tears began streaming down her face when she recognized him, dipping his head down in defeat and guilt.

“I’m sorry, Sansa.”

“What did I do?”

The broken and barely coherent words of genuine confusion and pain tore at the last shred of resentment he had been holding for what he had assumed to be her deceit, leaving him only with with self-loathing as he doubted his initial perceptions, fearing he had punished her for a crime she hadn’t been guilty of.

He quietly straightened, uncertain of how to respond. He looked off to where Ghost had settled himself on the floor for a few moments before he left her side to bring her a damp rag for her face, ignoring her hand that reached for it to dab it against her hot, salty skin himself.

“Nothing. I’m at fault. It isn’t wise for me to be as close to you as I have been.”

Sansa watched him for a moment before her eyes fell, her eyes hopeless and glassy. “You’re all I have.”

His shoulders fell and he pressed his forehead against his hand, bracing his weight on his elbow at the edge of her bed. “I understand that, Sansa. I understand that better than you think.”

“No you  _don’t_.” Her words were fierce and resentful and he looked up at her in surprise, watching as she pulled herself up onto her elbows to glare down at him, pain still clear in her eyes. “You  _don’t_ understand. People  _like_ you.  _You_ , just as you are. You’re a bastard, you have no titles or opportunities of ambition. You have no use as a  _pawn_.. yet people like you anyway,  _follow_ you anyway.”

“People have always liked you, Sansa. Why do you think all the boys-“

“Because I was a  _pretty girl_. Not because they liked me, and you know that. I was a spoiled little girl who was mean to her sister. The girls who followed me around wouldn’t have if my name wasn’t Stark. I did as I was told and I acted like a lady and was groomed to be sold off to whoever offered the most for me and ensured us the best alliances possible.”

“That’s what you wanted,” he said quietly. “You wanted to be a lady. You were proud of-“

“That’s all I was  _allowed_  to want. It was who I was going to be either way, so I might as well have been good at it. I wasn’t good at anything else. Not like Arya, your  _favorite_ sister. Even the rest of you didn’t like to be around me.”

His eyebrows came together, bewildered she would bring up the fact he had been closer to Arya. As if that had been  _his_ choice. “That isn’t true, Sansa. Robb-“

“Robb?” her voice was soft and the corners of her lips turned up without humor. “Do you mean the Robb who found me to be a less valuable pawn than Jaime Lannister so he  _left_  me in King’s Landing with the same people who murdered our father, meaning he  _had_ to have known that at the very least I was not being treated kindly.”

He stared at her, stopped short for a moment. He didn’t know how to respond to that. “Well, I’m sure he-“

“Don’t. He was a good man. I loved him more than anything, but he was still a player, and he still weighed his pawns carefully.”

“You’re so much more than a pawn, Sansa.” His voice broke as he spoke, clueless on how to help her and heartbroken at the truth of her words, angry at Robb for diminishing her like he had.

She wiped her eyes, her lower lip trembling in a way that tortured him as it elicited a need to kiss it still or steady it with his thumb.

“Exactly. You’re all I have.”

He buried his face into his hands as he kneeled at the side of her bed, both of his elbows resting against it then. He had know idea how to handle this, how to handle her, how to handle himself, how to handle himself  _with_ her. He was damned, and it seemed as though he was helpless to prevent dragging Sansa down with him.

“Please don’t ignore me anymore,” she pleaded, her voice a broken sort of whimper as she broke down into shaking, audible cries.

_**you don't understand, you should never know** _

His restraint was shattered then and he rose from his kneeling position to climb halfway onto the bed, drawing her into his arms to press her into his embrace. He shuddered at the way her body shook with with sobs, regret and more guilt clawing at his stomach. He sat fully on the bed without thinking to drag her into his lap, unconsciously rocking her as he pressed kisses against her hair. He clutched her even closer, his impulses driving him to cover her in his affection, in his scent.

She was  _his_ to comfort,  _his_ to protect.

Emotion was stuck painfully in his throat while his blood seemed to hum in contentment and light thrills ran consistently under his skin the closer she nuzzled herself into him. His mind was fogged over in a way that it hadn’t been the last night she had been in his lap when he had been able to hold his head on somewhat straight.

Her sobs were subsiding when he noticed how she tightly curled her fingers into his night shirt beneath his cloak. He could feel the difference in temperature from her skin to his through the fabric and he drew her furs back over her after he had taken her out from under them to rest her in his lap.

“Let Ghost stay in here,” he said after she had quieted completely, his eyelids fluttering shut as he savored the blissful feeling of her in his arms as he prepared to leave. “It’s your fault he woke me.”

Her hands retightened and her body tensed. “ _You_ stay. Please. I need both of you.” Her arms moved to slip under his and around his shoulders, attempting to force him in place by locking herself against him.

“No, Sansa. Please be reasonable. You’re asking too much of me.”

“So it’s  _torturous_  to stay with me?” There was a pouting edge to the bitterness of her tone, proving she knew she was aware that wasn’t the reason.

“I’m your brother,” he told her firmly, his tone final though the set of his body only adjusted to only accommodate her further, betraying the intentions his mind had.

“You don’t  _act_ like my brother.”

“And you never acted like-“ He cut off his defensive and irritated response with a heavy breath, shaking his head when he felt her rub her face against his chest. “That is exactly why I’m going back to my own room, and  _this._ ” He took the upper part of her frame in his hands to pry her back enough to look between them with a pointing motion of his head. “This behavior is exactly why I haven’t been around you.”

She grabbed his restraining hands to pull them off of her, glaring up at him. “I’m not sure  _what_ behavior you mean. I’m simply being a loving sister as you’ve  _always_ moped about  me  _not_ being because  _poor Jon_ was the black sheep of the family, and-“

“Really,” he interrupted dully, raising an eyebrow. “This is the angle you’re taking? Petty mocking? You  _must_ be feeling desperate to get your way.”

“Yes, I am desperate,” she snapped before shifting restlessly as her eyes dropped and her face fell. “I am lonely, and these walls.. they are haunted with memories and violence. Winterfell is stained with both the past and with the darkness the Boltons brought over it. I can’t.. handle it alone. It’s killing me. I burn with regret and guilt and  _pain_ every single moment. It’s relentless. It only feels better with you. You’re the only thing that makes me feel safe.. and Ghost.. but then he began reminding me of pain too.. If I’m not yours then he isn’t mine.”

“Sansa,” he breathed gravelly. His breath catching in his throat as he intended to say more but lost his wording.

“I don’t care.” Her words were forceful, her jaw set and stubborn. “I don’t  _care._ ”

He didn’t want to think of what she could possibly mean by her words. It was too dangerous to think in that direction.

“You can’t leave.”

He reluctantly met her eyes with his tired ones when he felt them boring into his face, waiting. He searched them, despairing panic swirling his thoughts into too many directions to do anything but comply at that point. Her eyes seized all of his will to do anything but what she wanted of him.

_**how easy you are to need** _

Her expression lifted in victorious relief though she nodded curtly.

“You can get off me now. I’ve agreed to what you asked.”

“That’s not why I..  _You_  put me here.”

“Not like this I didn’t.”

“You did. Just like before. And then you blamed  _me._ ”

“Not. Like. This. I didn’t.”

She glared fiercely at him, looking up and down his chest. “Like what exactly?”

He narrowed his eyes at the way she insisted on playing this coy game with him. “Like a  _lover_ , Sansa. Don’t act like you’re clueless. You know what you’re doing. This ‘tell them what they want to hear’ nons-“

“That is what you want to hear then.” She watched him closely, her face changing into an odd curious one and her head cocked slightly to the side. “That’s what you want?”

He laughed in bewilderment, shaking his head again. “You know exactly what you’re-“

“Why don’t you  _take_ me off you then. Just as you put me here. Just as you did last time.” Her hands intentionally found his chest and slowly slid themselves up and he flinched underneath them, struck with an overwhelming thrill of animalistic need. He grabbed her wrists tightly, holding them still as he grit his teeth.

**_don't let me in with with no intention to keep me_ **

“What are you hoping to accomplish by this,” he snarled, leaning forward to get in her face. “What do you want from me? Is it amusing to you to watch me squirm? Do you get a sick ego stroke out of attempting to seduce your  _brother_? Can you not survive unless you have someone to manipulate and play with?”

She said nothing in reply and didn’t pull back when he advanced on her, but instead held his gaze with a much too innocent expression, a much too  _vulnerable_ expression for a woman so conniving. She didn’t move until he released her wrists, his flare of temper fading, accentuating just how  _aware_ his body was to their position.

Once released, Sansa inclined herself forward in his lap instead of backing down as he had intended, her face hovering inches from his. His eyes focused on the mouth that was barely above his own, watching it carefully. His senses dimmed to the rest of the room as his primal desires forced his attention to her pink, full lips that were plainly pleading to be seized by his teeth and made swollen from the way he would roughly take them as his own. He slowly arched himself upward, gaining height as he sat straighter, his eyes never leaving their mark in his calculated and predatory movements. He heard the sound of her breath catching in her throat and his eyes narrowed as a near sadistic smile began to pull at his lips as even more of his humanity was stripped away at the deliciously vulnerable sound.

His, he had to make her his. She was  _begging_ for it, just as his instincts commanded him to comply to her body’s beckoning, to make her his mate.

“I don’t care.”

The breath of her words hadn’t even had the time to grace his skin before his mouth was covering hers, his hand coming to twist into her shift as the other braced itself against the nape of her neck. His breaths were shallow and impatient as he gorged himself on the sweetness of her mouth after months of starving for it.

_**jesus christ, don’t be kind to me** _

His body shuddered under the powerful wave of euphoric satisfaction that washed over him and he crushed her closer, his breathing heavy in his desperation and impatience for more as he pushed himself up higher so he could kiss her harder. Sansa recovered quickly after being taken off guard by his aggressive show of surrender, a small sound coming from the back of her throat as she fought to respond with the same intensity. Her hips angled against his and the gasp she made in the small break of their kiss skipped on its way down as she pressed herself forward against his lap, feeling the stark evidence of his lust for her between her legs and his fingers dug into the soft flesh of her neck as she moved to repeat the motion.

Was this what he had exchanged for his life? This alarming lack of morality? The uncontrollable animal that claimed the direction of his self will?

He didn’t care.

His conscience’s attempt at reasoning was proven useless against the sharp pleasure that came with the rocking of her hips and with a harsh breath he had pushed her forward and onto her back, his hand releasing her shift to slip beneath it and rest his hand just to the side of her naval, feeling the way her warm skin rose and fell with her ragged breaths. She promptly lifted her hips slightly to encourage his caresses and her lips broke and brushed up and over his in a small, eager nod as though to approve his actions as satisfactory and perfectly compliant to her wishes, exactly what she wanted.

And what she wanted was for her brother to fuck her.

She clearly understood the direction of his thoughts when he tensed and meant to withdraw himself from her and he felt her nails against his bare skin, her hands having found their way up his back in the attempt to keep him right where she wanted him, right where  _he_ wantedhimself. His heart sped up and he could feel it in his ears, his thoughts making the act of what he was doing to his own flesh and blood plain and dizzying. He wondered if he was truly going mad, lying on top of his little sister with his cock hard and impatient for the velvet sheath just beneath the fabric that separated them, hot and soaking and  _ready_ to take whatever he gave,  _eager_ to take it.

_**honey don't feed me - i will come back** _

He could feel the sound of protest she made against his lips as her mouth followed their retreat. Her desperate whimper fell into a low, possessive growl, primal and threatening, when his hips parted from hers and he faltered at the response. She took the opportunity to hitch one leg up his thigh, dragging him back down as she caught his hand that he had been pulling away to guide it back up her body and over her breast, soft and full against his hand. He bit back a groan and turned his face to the side, unwilling to give in any longer, unwilling to allow his depravity to have the final say. His mind numbed as he registered her moving his hand again, guiding it down to dip between her legs and the folds of her parted against his fingers when she rolled her hips up to meet them. His eyes threatened to roll back beneath his closed lids at how slick she was for him, how swollen the lips of her cunt were for him. Hot and nearly dripping, she needed to be filled, needed his -

His hands found both of her wrists to roughly yank them down and gather them together behind and beneath her back, holding them tightly in place. His eyes flicked between her wide ones wildly, burning with both lust and forceful authority as he restrained her.

“No.”

His tone was final and clear, his eyes remaining on hers, daring her to attempt to coerce him again until she looked away, glowering in defeat as her cheeks flushed darker under the glow of the dimly lit room. He dragged her away from the foot of the bed and maneuvered her back to her proper place on the bed, trying to ignore the wet and cooling trace of her that still clung to his fingers.

“Keep to yourself,” he commanded before he turned away to lay on his side, his eyes darkening when he felt the bed shift with her movement before speaking again, his voice dropping in temperature. “Or I will leave.”

He closed his eyes when he heard her exasperated sigh, relieved she didn’t start crying and instead seemed to settle herself down as she followed his order.

That’s right, good girl.

He squeezed his eyes tighter, delirious and overwhelmed by the guilt of the heinous act that had just went on between them, between  _siblings._ He didn’t know what it would take for the fact to sink in as it was meant to, for it to properly disgust him that he was about to lie with his own sister, that her cunt had deliciously -

He was damned. No, he was utterly and devastatingly  _fucked_.

* * *

Jon didn’t avoid her as he so desperately needed to, set on keeping his word to her. He wouldn’t punish her for a sin he had actively participated in. She was the vulnerable one, it was  _his_  responsibility to avoid such things. He almost snorted out loud at himself for how he was thinking of what had happened so casually as if avoiding _that_ was as simple and  _normal_ as avoiding a sibling squabble. 

Right, because fighting and fucking went hand and hand when it came to sibling relationships.

“ _Excuse_  me, your _grace_.” 

He raised his eyes to the side of him to find Sansa’s in acknowledgment before refocusing his attention on his food.

“Are you listening?”

“No.”

He raised an eyebrow at her short, temperamental laugh before sitting up to lean back in his chair, regarding her calmly as he sucked his teeth. He made an impatient gesture for her to go on and she narrowed her eyes. 

“I was telling you that you must start sending more ravens if you ever hope to-”

He rolled his eyes and waved her off, shaking his head when she puffed up as her temper flared at the way he interrupted her. “You’ve told me this a hundred times, Sansa, I don’t need to hear-”

“Yes, exactly. I’ve told you a hundred times, so one would  _expect_  there to be at least  _a_   _hundred letters_ ,” she said coldly.

“You’ve got pretty handwriting,” he said dismissively, going back to his food. 

“Yes, pretty handwriting that I’ve been using to write  _your_  letters. It’s necessary for at least  _some_  of them to-”

“Alright,” he sighed. “I’ll do them. Forgive me, I’ve just been tired.”

“I know,” she said gently, her tone coloring with sympathy. “I don’t mean to nag you, but I just.. I want everything to be okay. I want Winterfell to be okay.”

“It’s your job to nag me,” he said lightly, turning his head just enough for her to see the small smile he offered. “I’d be dead without it.”

“Glad we can agree. On both counts.” She sniffed and he imagined her folding her hands over her lap in the indignant way she did, her nose turning up in the air. 

He scowled at Ghost pushing between them to rest his head on Sansa’s lap, waiting to be slipped food from her plate. “I told you not to keep feeding him.”

“And I listened.” 

“Clearly not,” he snorted, nodding toward his direwolf pointedly. 

“I said I listened, not that I did as I was told. You feed him all the time.”

“I can do as I please. You’re spoiling him. He doesn’t listen to me half as much as he used to.”

“And I can understand why,” she scoffed. “Can’t say I blame him in the slightest, as I can think of so many things I’d rather do than listen to you.”

“Go on and do them then instead of irritating me by hovering over my shoulder like you are. Give me space.”

“Fine,” she said coolly, pushing her chair back loudly. “There are plenty of men who would  _love_  to have me hovering over their shoulder, men who actually care about what I have to say.”

He frowned at that, shaking his head. Of course he cared about what she had to say, but her dramatics grew exhausting at times and he didn’t have the energy to call her back. He tensed as he thought over her words on the matter of other men, imagining the idea. His jaw worked and he glared at the table, exhaling through his nose in aggravation at the fact he was so unjustifiably  _jealous_  of any man who may pursue her. He was meant to be protective, yes, but not possessive.

Then again, he wasn’t  _meant_  to do a lot of things when it came to Sansa, yet he did them regardless, didn’t he?

* * *

Sansa hadn’t asked him back to her chambers, much to Jon’s relief, nor had she sent his direwolf away since that night. Both of them had continued on as normal, and she seemed as though she had no memory of what had happened.

Unfortunately, he most definitely  _did_  have memory of it, clear and taunting.

_**can't be unlearned** _

He was going insane with it all. The taste of her on his tongue, the feel of her skin under his hands, the warmth of her eager body beneath his, and every piece of her that his senses had indulged upon that night clouded his thoughts and wreaked havoc on his heart. Guilt pounded into him just as hard as his lustful thoughts did, and he didn’t know how much more of it he could take. 

Jon’s gaze landed and locked into place on Sansa and her sworn sword’s squire as they entered his line of sight, his eyes narrowing on her arm looped around his, an adorable little habit she had picked up on as of late with the man, the incredibly  _soft_  man that could barely hold a sword much less use it properly to protect her. 

The idea of her, Sansa Stark of Winterfell, with a mere squire boy was absolutely ludicrous, and if anyone had mentioned it to her as a girl she would have given them an earful for insulting her in such a way. 

But she wasn’t that girl anymore, and Sansa as a woman was perfectly content sitting herself beside the fat cheeked squire, the smile on her face unfaltering as they spoke together. She gave the fool more smiles and expressions of warmth than she gave him, and Jon was close to cracking his teeth in the way he clenched them together tightly in restraint. He tried to focus his attention elsewhere, to ignore them, but he still found himself watching them in his peripheral vision. He thrummed his fingers along his thigh, shaking his leg anxiously as he tried to reason with his absurd jealousy. 

What was he becoming?

A satisfied smirk crossed his lips when Ghost approached Sansa to lay himself across her feet, forcing the squire back as he curled his lips at him. He growled as he settled himself, staring the boy down in warning to not to touch what was his. 

Jon refocused his gaze elsewhere when Sansa glanced toward him with a scowl after voicing her disapproval to the direwolf. Ghost made no effort to move out of the way as she ordered, calmly resting his head down instead. Jon chuckled under his breath, pleased that his direwolf shared his distaste for the unworthy men who pined after Sansa like panting dogs begging for scraps. 

**_i've known the warmth of your doorways_ **

Jon couldn’t help but give her a patronizing smile as he passed her on his way out of the castle after the squire had nervously scrambled up, using the excuse of Brienne to get away from the snarling beast, leaving Sansa by herself with the stubborn direwolf. 

“Good thing he prefers you over me.”

* * *

Sansa’s smug gaze burned behind his eyes as he strode through the castle, slamming his door once inside his room, his anger enough to create a dull ache in his chest. Malicious woman, taunting him and intentionally waving her affections toward other men in his face. He was stupid not to suspect her of such immature behavior, especially when she always seemed to be so  _conveniently_  near him while charming the men around her as she did, all before having the nerve to openly undermine him in favor of the  _vale knight_  of all men to take the side of over her _king_. 

It was what she did, she played with people. She played with  _him._  

And she was good at it, almost innocently so. Most of the time she seemed she hardly realized the games she played, conditioned to win every single one of them. He knew she wasn’t truly being vindictive, knew that he had wounded her pride and made her feel unwanted, though he was desperate to know why it was so hard for her to understand. Perhaps Cersei Lannister truly had poisoned her thoughts, as the fact that he was her brother seemed to make no difference to Sansa, and if it did she surely didn’t show it. Then again, she very well could have been trying to move passed their incident by extending the amount of those she socialized with. She was clearly lonely, and that was why she had chosen to ignore the blood they shared. He had mocked her  _before_  she had done anything wrong, and in that she had been given a reason to repay him.

 _“_ You _put me here.”_

He stopped his pacing and dropped his head back, exhaling through his nose as he swallowed even more of his pride to take more responsibility for the mess they had become.

 _“And then you blamed_ me _.”_

It couldn’t damn well be all of his doing, and he was tired of running about in circles with her, dodging the unfortunate tension between them as much as he were able. They were adults, and he was the  _King._  

**_through the cold, i'll find my way back to you_ **

Once he was standing outside of her door his fair resolve began to dissipate before she had even opened it, his consuming and possessive temperament climbing its way back up his chest and into his throat as the faces of the men who felt it their right to pursue what was  _his_ swam to the front of his mind. 

His and his alone. 

The unimpressed look Sansa had worn on her face for him with her pink lips pursed just earlier came to memory and he felt his eyes darken, forgetting his intent to have any sort of peaceful discussion with her. She had shaken her head at him as though he were a fool before nodding along and taking the side of another who had no business speaking out in the first place. A low blow, looking upon a man of such little status in comparison to Jon with higher regard than she did him, making sure there were many onlookers to witness his humiliation. 

No matter what said or did, no matter how  _acted_ , he would  _always_ be a bastard in the eyes of Sansa Stark. 

_**oh please, give me mercy no more** _

He had made too many excuses for her for the sake of successfully fulfilling the role of the man meant to put her above all, himself included, and treat her with nothing but kindness and respect. A line had to be drawn. Seeing her indignant expression when she opened her door along with the self-assured set of her chin only set in stone his conclusion that there would be no mature discussion between the two of them that night, no mature anything as he was controlled by his temper just as she was controlled by her inability to not act a childish brat regardless of how much a time may call for otherwise. He moved passed her calmly, his eyes running over the form Ghost sleeping by the fire as he gauged her movements and the distance between them unconsciously, the predator that resided in him preparing to strike. 

“If you’ve come to give me one of your infamous scoldings, then I-” 

He had turned and unceremoniously thrown her up against the door before she had the chance to comprehend even the mere turn of his body, trapping her between him and the door as he pushed her wrists back against it when her hands came forward in reaction. She gasped loudly at the sudden impact but recaptured his gaze to hold it steadily and he watched as a triumphant glint flashed through her eyes.

“Poor Jon. He gets jealous because he’s not always in his sister’s favor.”

He chuckled darkly before caressing her cheek, lightly drawing his thumb across the defined bone before dragging it down to trace over her parted lips. He felt the light quiver that went through her beneath his touch before responding with a crushing kiss, punishing and angry. Though beneath his furious ministrations was a vulnerable and desperate need for her approval after he had been wounded by the way she had dismissed him as she did all others as though she held him in equal regard despite how he had earned himself the right to be treated otherwise.

_**it’s a kindness you can’t afford** _

He broke his lips from hers as he allowed her to breathe, dragging them across the side of her mouth and along the length of her jaw, the very edge of his tongue skimming over her skin and tasting it. 

“Was this what you wanted, my perfect sister,” he said against her skin harshly. “Was this what you hoped your insolence would bring? Did you hope your brother would come to fuck you after he  _dared_  to turn you down if you gave him something to prove? I would hate it if I failed to give you everything you wanted of me.”

“Yes.”

Her voice was soft, honest as she replied as though he wasn’t speaking to her in the crude manner he was. He released her wrists and pressed her against her door with a gentleness he had not expected himself capable of directly after the barbarous display of fury he had just presented the both of them. The attentions of his lips became light against her skin and he found his hands running up her back to gather her closer, needy for the sweetness of her that he had refused himself the hope to possess. He buried his face into the crook of her neck, kissing the soft skin there in sincere adoration rather than the deprived lust he had been attempting to push down for so long. He would rather her receive the light side of him rather than only the dark that he had been failing to control, the bitter, entitled side of the scorned child with something to prove. He was going to fail at keeping away from her as he should either way, so he might as well allow himself to love her as he knew he did. 

“I know,” he sighed against her in surrender, pulling her closer and breathing her in before raising his head again to tuck a piece of her loose hair behind her ear as he pressed his lips to her temple.

She nodded, her eyes sincere and communicative as they watched his when he finally looked at her properly. He took the time to willingly note on all of her features, the features that he had acknowledged as perfect and inhumanly beautiful many times before but never without immediately reprimanding himself after. 

_**i want you baby tonight, as sure as you're born** _

He let her kiss him then, yielding to the moment and her delicate mouth that curiously explored his with precious inexperience. He hummed a light sound in the back of his throat in approval when her fingers tangled into his hair, the warmth of his affection sinking over him and settling against his skin as he lost track of the amount of time they spent carefully and slowly memorizing the taste of each other, the way their lips felt against each inch of the other’s skin.

“Please don’t taunt me, Jon.  _Please_.”

Her begging whimpers pleased his ears as she braced her hands against her door after he had flipped her around once he had finished ridding her of any hindrance that threatened his ability to feel nothing but the heat of her bare skin against his own. He continued to run open-mouthed kisses down her spine, following his path with a painful slowness as she both amused and satisfied him with the way she squirmed about and against him in her small fit, pleased to experience her need him as he needed her.

He purred at the choked sound of alarm that came from her throat as she was momentarily stolen of breath once he was inside her. His smug sound was quickly cut off and replaced with a quiet groan as he fully enveloped himself in the consuming heat of her. His mouth found her skin again as his head dipped down to her shoulder as he took her against her door, the moans she made nearly as maddening as the tight grip of her wet cunt. 

Jon watched her fingers curl against the hard wood of the door and took the action as a cue to unravel her further, capturing her by the throat to arch her back against him in a way that turned her series of moans and whimpers to cries that fell into sobs shortly after. He stifled his loud groan as he bit into the flesh of her neck just above his hand when she tightened and trembled around him, the broken sounds of her release tearing loudly through the room. His fingers dug sharply into her hip as he came undone himself after a few strokes more, covering what he could reach of her in praising kisses as the peak of his bliss dizzied him, fading into a delicious thrill of satisfaction as his long craving for her was finally sated. 

Sansa curled as close to him as she were able once he had taken her to the bed, intertwining their legs as though he meant to slip away from her once she fell asleep. He stroked his hand down her hair and draped his arm over her waist once she had comfortably buried herself into his chest.

“Don’t leave again.”

He swallowed a sigh and pressed his nose into her hair at her hesitant and worried words. He was silent for a long time as he fought to quiet the dozens of reasons of why leaving again was exactly what he needed to do as they rang loudly through his head. Leaving again was the only justifiable thing for him to do. 

“I’ve met men who ate other men.”

**_you'll hear me howling outside your door_ **


End file.
